Rabbit Hearts
by knit-wear
Summary: Being the Joker and Harley Quin isn’t a healthy business. Like a pair of painted vagabonds they live in old motels & abandoned warehouses stealing and murdering and of course always after the Bat. Their misadventures told through scars and injuries.
1. You Made a Deal

Summery: Being the Joker and Harley Quin isn't a healthy business. Like a pair of painted vagabonds, they live in old motels and abandoned warehouses, stealing and murdering and of course always after the Bat. Series of little stories of their misadventures.

AN: so I was sitting in the hospital all day waiting to get an x ray done—it was lame but fantasizing about this story helped a bit. I thought, hmm, what would be nice? I know, a non origin story seen as those are all I've done so far.

X

Rabbit Hearts.

1. You Made A Deal

There was a Motel 6 just on the east side of the Narrows boasting 'A location near many exciting attractions where new adventures await you!' That may have been true, but the red-brown carpet with suspicious looking stains attested otherwise. In one of the nearly identical rooms on the second floor there was a small window with a view of the Ihop across the street. The glass was so caked in dirt and grime it was nearly impossible to see the closest exciting attraction. There was a bed in the corner with a dark lavender bed spread, also sporting bruise like stains across its surface in addition to the over washed, gray sheets.

It wasn't sanitary, and it was pleasant, but it was home. At least for a few nights anyway. Until 'Jane Smith' turned up dead and her credit card was stopped.

The door burst open, and two young people dressed in bright violets and crimson toppled over the threshold and sprawled across the rust coloured carpet. Despite the flamboyant clothes they could have been a normal couple, until one got a look at their painted faces. Bright white face paint slowly turning gray with sweat and the melted back from around their hollow eyes. They'd painted wide red smiles on each others' faces; though his were highlighting two vicious scars tearing the corners of his mouth, while hers were simply romantic.

She was holding him up, a purple arm around her shoulder while she struggled to help him onto the bed. His leg was dragging, the muscles trying and failing to work around a blood stained gash across the leg of his violet trousers. At last she managed to throw him on the bed with an unladylike huff, and shook her platinum blonde curls out of her wide blue eyes.

As he hit the bed the Joker released a long string of curses and tried to sit up to examine his leg.

"No, don't. I'll sort it out."

He looked at her darkly, a threat looming beneath the black rimmed eyes. "You had better."

The threat was always and never there. She knew he would never kill her but he had no qualms about coming close. She thought maybe he loved her but could never quite know for sure. All she had to go on was the way he curled up around her in bed every night, like a waifish needy child. That was the only way they slept, tangled limbs with blonde heads close together on the same pillow.

Love was only a word to him, but Harley was very nearly sure he felt it for her.

She started taking off his trousers, undoing loose purple buttons and sliding them over the narrow lesion in his thigh. After prodding around the bullet wound and being slapped across the face twice for not being gentle enough she moved to the bathroom to get their toiletry bag. All the essentials. They were running low on sutures, chloroform and the Colgate Max Fresh tooth paste she liked.

Grabbing a scalpel, tweezers, peroxide, towels and sutures, Harley hurried back to the bed where the Joker was waiting with glassy eyes, his jaw clenched firmly.

"I'll be as quick as possible," she promised, swabbing his leg with peroxide and cutting a hole in a towel to make a dam. Glancing at her lover's ashen face she quickly went to the mini-bar and grabbed three small bottles of vodka. He tipped them down his throat, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as the vodka ran through his system.

Neither of them really drank. There wasn't time, there wasn't a purpose. Maybe if they stayed at a nice hotel they would order room service and gorge themselves on wine and expensive food—always going on someone else's tab. Those were times when Harley felt half way back to normal. When human interaction didn't involve a gun or a hammer to the head.

They'd clear their make up off and let the unsuspecting bell boy wheel in a lovely white cart loaded up with treats. Harley would tip and make small talk while he wandered into the bathroom, unable to really focus on having another person in the room to come up with what qualified as normal speech. Pretending to be something he wasn't was undesirable and nearly impossible. Harley was better at it. She could tip the bell boy and say thank you.

Just like how now she was looking up at him with her mouth pressed into a firm line, her big blue eyes so worried and sad, so empathetic like she was feeling the same pain he was. It made him uncomfortable having her look at him like that, like she would do anything to make the pain go away, to fix him and love him forever no matter how horrible he was to her.

Harley had many purposes no matter how often he might want to throw her off a building.

"Ready, honey?"

He tipped the last little bottle of liqueur down his throat as make shift anesthesia.

Performing surgery in a dingy hotel room was part of Harley's life at this point. Four years at medical school and three as a doctor but her brain decided to block it out and concentrate on other things: gasoline, bullets, hammers and dynamite. Somehow the motor skills for performing surgery stuck, even if it did make her feel a bit sick. Sick to know she'd felt superior to _him_ at one point. The sight of blood and exposed muscle was just part of the job these days.

Afterwards, Harley snuggled up next to him, he was quiet and pale and only moved his arm enough to let her lay her head on his chest. He patted her head lazily. "Good job," he croaked, his eyes slipping shut.

Harley wrapped her arms around his chest and buried her face in the emerald waist coat, noticing it still smelt of the febreeze she'd sprayed it with a few days earlier by way of dry cleaning their clothes. Just over the febreeze was the thick, noxious odor of gun powder, strangely heady and enjoyable in her sleepy state.

It was nearing dawn and Harley began to slip into sleep. She tugged on him to turn towards her in their favorite position; one leg hooked over his hip while the other slipped between his knees, messily tangling their joints together. He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to his chest with one pale hand clutching a hand full of ashy blonde curls.

Harley's hair felt soft under his fingers, and he tugged at a knot until she squirmed and pressed her face deeper into his shirt. She played her part well, pretending to be normal well enough when it was needed, and doctoring him up when he was hurt; being pretty enough to be deceptive but cruel enough to kill ruthlessly.

And there was her most cruel purpose of all, he thought, still tugging at her hair even though she was ignoring it now. She trusted him completely, loved him thoroughly and would do anything he asked. The most deranged of all being how every night she curled herself around him, not questioning his irrational need to be close to her.

X

Note: Just felt like writing a few little stories about them being nutso's. Drop me a review! I've got a few in the pipeline.


	2. Will It Be Enough?

Note: I'm just writing bollocks here basically. Nothing is meant to be connected. I'm just bored.

Rabbit Hearts

2. But Will It Be Enough?

Gordon swallowed a mouthful of lukewarm coffee. It had been a long night, a lot of gun fire, a lot of men down, and now he had to interrogate what was bound to be a very uncooperative prisoner. The whole station was humming with excitement that at least they'd caught _someone_ who might know _something _that might help them catch the Joker again, and for hopefully the last time. Cops and detectives milled around the interrogation room, waiting and watching with anticipation. This was almost more intriguing than when they'd brought the Joker in.

The Joker had come in the previous summer, and they'd all gathered around the one way mirror, all trying to see the freakshow that was terrorizing their city. How up close he looked close to being a man but something was still off—something feral and evil that pulsed from his cell. Now, they had something entirely different.

Gordon took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to encounter before entering the interrogation room.

"Miss Harleen Quinzel is it?" he sat down at the table across from Harley Quin. She was smaller than he'd imagined she would be. Her legs were crossed primly and she slouched only slightly, more or less to show off her amazing get-up, Gordon rationalized. She wore a long sleeved black leotard with black tights along with a towering pair of platform shoes. Over the top of the tights she had on a bright red, sequined pair of shorts that came up to the middle of her waist. Shorts was a loose term.

She looked sideways at him, recognition fluttering over her painted face—black, white and a big red smile, just like the Joker's. Her platinum hair fell in sweaty curls around her ears, pulled up to one side with a thick diamond clip. On closer inspection Gordon realized it was actually a solid diamond and platinum clip. It gave her the look of a film star.

"Harley Quin," she corrected, licking her red smeared lips.

Gordon sighed, "Your name is Harleen Quinzel, we are charging you thus. So, Miss. Quinz—"

She sat up suddenly, her eyes as dark as Gordon remembered the Joker's being. "If we're going to play your game lets get one thing straight," her voice was not the irritatingly high pitched whine he normally heard when she was around the Joker—killing cops and throwing that hammer of hers around. This voice was fluid and syrupy, with a touch of something secretive to it. She sounded intelligent and coherent, which suddenly made her twice as dangerous to Gordon.

"This isn't a game," he snapped.

She sat up straight in her chair, legs crossed, hands folded in her sequined lap. With an imperious sniff she said, "It's _Doctor_ Quinzel." She burst into laughter at that, throwing her blonde head back and bucking her sequined hips in the air.

Gordon rubbed his neck, trying to decide the best way to go about this. "Right," he said, watching her subside into giggles then finally settle back in her chair, grinning Cheshire like and tucking strands of blonde behind her ears. "You are though aren't you?"

She raised an eyebrow, "I am what?"

"You're a doctor," Gordon said plaintively, "They may have revoked your license to practice medicine but you still have a doctorate in medicine." He spread his hands out, trying to get her to acquiesce. "Do you remember being a doctor?"

Harley rolled her eyes and tossed her hair, "Yeah, of course. It was boring. Life is not meant to be boring. Following the rules is boring, life isn't meant to be lived by rules…" she trailed off and stared at the one way mirror, squinting slightly. "How many of you guys are back there, anyway?"

Gordon considered the desk before him, looking for the answer in the flat gray steel. This was an intelligent woman, a logical and rational woman. She was also a psychopath, a masochist, a sadist and everything in between.

She was also staring at him curiously, he realized, as if taking stock of him. Her icy gaze hovered on his face for a moment, taking in the crows feet behind the thick glasses, the twitching mustache and the graying hair before moving over the rest of him quietly.

"Harley," Gordon snapped again, and she dragged her attention back to his face.

One eyebrow arched glamorously, "Yes Commissioner?" Her voice was honey sweet and knowing.

"Harley, would it be fair to say that you commit random acts of violence and murder because the Joker tells you to—and that you do what he tells you because you love him."

She looked disgusted, "Why don't you ask me some important questions—where's the money, Harley? Where's the hideout? How long does the Mayor have before that bomb goes off in his car—oh wait, we already used that one, didn't we. Hmm." She tapped her mouth thoughtfully and her fingers came away red. "Ask me something like that."

"Would you tell me if I asked you?" Gordon leaned back in his chair, watching her appraisingly as she recrossed her legs and fixed him with a sultry look.

"Oh, I think you could get it out of me, James." Harley tossed him a wink, her black lashes fluttering girlishly.

"Why won't you tell me about you and the Joker? You're not stupid." Gordon stood now, leaning over the table to peer into her painted face. Up close she was more beautiful and even more terrifying. "Are you afraid that if you actually explain it you'll know it's fake? That it's just a psychotic break or some—something make believe he's tricked you into. Because you aren't stupid so there is no way to explain it."

Harley's eyes narrowed and her lips pursed but she remained in control of her emotions. "Oh, James," she sighed, uncrossing her legs slowly and sliding to her feet. She was almost as tall as Gordon in her shoes. She planted her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. "I'm not stupid and I'm not going to jump up and scream about how you don't understand my _relationship_. Things don't need to be explained, they just are."

With this last word she wiggled her fingers mystically and giggled. "You know?"

Gordon dropped down in his seat but Harley remained standing, now trailing around the interrogation room looking in the mirror and fluffing her hair. "Your actions indicate you don't feel guilt or empathy, yet you used to want to be a doctor—to help people. What changed?"

"Oh please," Harley snorted, scratching at a spot on the glass. "I highly doubt you want to discuss ethics and the medical industry." She turned and began walking back to him, hips swaying, black eyes narrowing in. "You want to hear about how the Joker really is only a mortal—how it's possible for even you, James, to take him down." At this she put a hand on Gordon's chest, offering him a sad stare. "You want me to tell you how weak he makes me so that you can save me. But what if I can't tell you any of those things."

"He is mortal, Harley. If you don't think—"

"Ah-ah-ah!" She slid even closer, her black and sparkly red length pressed up against him. "Here's the real thing I want to tell you James, and this comes straight from the horse's mouth—you do know who I mean when I say that right?"

Gordon's brow furrowed. He suddenly had an idea that something bad was going to happen, but Harley's cracked painted face was too close and his curiosity to strong to call in the guards.

"Of course you do," she continued, smiling brilliantly, her stolen diamond pin shining in the fluorescent light. "Now, you should know that no matter how hard you try—no matter how long you hunt you will never get us. This city, is ours." She took a deep satisfied breath, still beaming and pressing against him. "And that was mostly for your boys in there to hear."

Harley draped a thin arm over his shoulders and glanced at the mirror. "Now that they know that, I can tell you what I really think of you Jimmy-Baby."

In slow motion the interrogation room door exploded open with cops about to throw themselves on Harley and the hypodermic needle she'd suddenly pulled out of her sparkly shorts before jamming it in Gordon's neck and pushing the plunger. She dragged Gordon away from the first wave off cops and looked down at the half collapsed Commissioner.

"What happened there!" She giggled, "I'm ever so sure I don't know!"

There was another crash and the glass wall behind her shattered inwards to reveal a hailstorm of gun fire and fighting. A sledgehammer, the apparent cause of the shattered glass flew across the interrogation room and took out a cop shouting into his walkie-talkie. Harley shrieked with joy and struggled to hold Gordon up.

"Don't you just love it, Commissioner," she sighed, as a machine gun went off, ripping another officer to her right to shreds.

Gordon attempted to stagger away from her, to stand on his own or speak but consciousness was becoming difficult in itself. Whatever she'd given him was strong and working fast at shutting down his motor functions.

Another round of bullets went off and the Joker stepped through the broken glass mirror, admiring his handy work. His face was calm and peaceful despite the thugs in clown masks and the police wrestling with one another and the occasional explosions from grenades going off. He spotted Harley with a half conscious Commissioner draped around her shoulders and the sledgehammer he'd thrown through the glass swinging in her right hand.

Gordon, unable to speak and slowly becoming unable to see could only watch gormlessly as the Joker grinned at her secretively and strolled casually over to them. His paint was fresh and he looked in no way surprised to find his Harlequin with a half conscious police officer in her arms—so it had all been a set up. Again. This time he'd used her as bait and it had worked again.

The Joker made a _tisk-tisk-tisk_ sound at Harley, gliding to her side easily. She unceremoniously dropped Gordon as if forgetting he were there to begin with and the older man found himself staggering to the table for help to stand. He could only watch with bewilderance as Harley threw her arms around the Joker's neck, her thin, sparkling, sequined and diamond dripped form so young and pretty next to him.

You would expect her to make him look uglier and more deformed, but instead she made him look normal. With a second madly dressed clown in the room she siphoned off some of the shock and fear he produced. The Joker didn't make sense, one look at him and age, name, origin, location, none of those things seemed to exist in his realm. But Harley was young and beautiful, and somehow with her standing next to him it was apparent that he was actually quite young. Younger than you'd expect looking at him on his own. And human.

They shared a quick kiss before she took a step behind him and they looked down at Gordon together, her peering over his shoulder now.

"Hey, Jimbo. How's life?" The Joker cooed, waving a hand in front of Gordon's face. "You alive?"

"What do you want?" Gordon managed to slur.

The Joker ignored him. "He give you a hard time, Harl?" he asked casually over his shoulder.

Harley, now looking even more like a glamorous starlet in Gordon's blurred vision sighed, "Oh he tried to tell me you're not good enough for me. He wants to save me from you."

Their voices started to become far away as consciousness evaded him.

"I'm pretty sure he wants to save everyone from me, Harl."

"I think he may have picked up on my daddy issues." Harley sounded as if she were restraining herself from giggling. "You know, filling the void and all that."

The Joker snickered, and pulled her waist suddenly so she was pressed flat against him. "I thought I satisfied all your daddy issues, baby."

"Oh, you satisfy all of them." Harley purred, running a hand down the lapel of his jacket and offering her crimson lips up for a kiss.

Two men dressed as clowns hauled Gordon to his feet and began dragging his drugged form out of the room, none of them saying anything as the Joker and Harley kissed passionately, becoming lost in one another's lips. Gordon felt only despair at seeing the pair of them wrapped around each other, fumbling and groping while their lips never once parted. Whatever the Joker had found in Harley Quin it was at once terrifying and envious. A dangerous coupling of minds that would surely bear no good will towards the people of Gotham—but simultaneously he'd found the thing that made the Joker human. Harley. He grasped her and kissed her and the whole scene of the MCU disappeared around them and until at last their kiss broke.

"Lets get out of here." He mumbled into her hair.

"And Gordon?" Harley whispered shakily, feeling his hands sliding slowly down her sides over the sequined shorts.

"He can wait." A red mouth against her ear and all Harley could manage by way of response was to close her eyes and whimper. "Let's get out of here, Harley." He said again, kissing her cheek then dragging her through the maelstrom of gunfire and fighting between cops and clowns. A bullet whizzed past Harley's head, knocking off a blonde curl and a cop lunged at the Joker only to be shot down moments before hitting him in the chest.

They side stepped the cop easily and Harley lifted her shining face up for another quick kiss before they left the police station.

X

Note: those red shorts do exist at Topshop for 30 pounds. They're absolutely amazing.

Leave me some **reviews!** I put up the last chapter of the Harlequin and no one read it. Depressing, I need to know you guys are reading!


	3. It's Time to Offer Up

Rabbit Hearts

The looking glass so shiny and new

How quickly the glamour fades

I start spinning slipping out of time

Was this the wrong pill to take

3. It's Never Enough

"Stop," she croaked, her words garbled by blood as it slid helplessly out the corner of her painted mouth. Her fingers grasped across the sticky cement floor, desperately searching for the gun that had been knocked from her hand. A heavy black boot stomped down on her wrist before she could find it and Harley shrieked, curling in on her self. "Stop."

"I'll stop," came the startlingly quiet reply, "When you cry for me."

Harley squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her lips together, refusing to acknowledge what was happening. A swift kick in the ribs from those huge boots got her to shriek again and her captor squatted down next to her broken form.

She was beautiful despite the black eye so swollen she could barely open it where he'd first hit her. A few more cracks across the face rewarded her with a split lip, a cut on the cheek and possibly a broken nose considering how hard it was bleeding. He'd kicked her in the chest and she didn't seem to be able to breathe properly, gagging every now and then and coughing through blood stained teeth. It sounded wonderful to his ears.

"Scream for me," he purred. He didn't think she was strong, he knew she would open her eyes and there would be the fear that he always produced in young women. "Harley…"

That pretty blonde hair stuck to her sweaty forehead and she took a few deep breaths before opening her one good eye. "No." She snarled. "You're a dead man Croc."

Killer Croc, as he was known by the masses, was not easily surprised. He snarled and stomped down on her wrist again, almost petulantly. "The Joker isn't God, he doesn't run this city and he certainly doesn't run me," he growled through pointed teeth. He threw himself over Harley and bit her neck, breaking the skin and drawing blood.

Harley started laughing, loud hoarse laughter that reverberated around the walls of the basement he'd dragged her into. She seemed unable to control herself and when he crawled off her and stomped on her wrist again her gasping hysterics only got louder.

"He's going to kill you! He's going to kill you!" she sing songed madly. Her mind was blissfully unfocused—not on the pain in her body or the fear of her captor gnawing on her throat again or even the terror that she might actually die in this dirty basement with a common criminal. "He's going to kill—"

Harley was silenced when she was lifted to her feet by the collar of her blazer and thrown across the room. She hit an empty wardrobe about five feet away and slammed through the glass door. Momentary blackness captured her consciousness and she hit the floor like a boneless ragdoll. Shards of glass stuck deep in her shoulder, shredding delicate pale skin. She tried to laugh but found making any kind of sound was impossible. Croc was in front of her again. He threw her again. And hit her and then threw her again.

It wasn't until he said, "I only wish the Joker was here to see this," when Harley realized she'd made a terrible mistake. She'd given up. She hadn't fought back hard enough. She'd gotten a few punches and a kick in the balls in but other than that she had failed completely to defend herself.

Her lover would have been so disappointed if he had been there to see it.

"Now," Croc knelt down next to her again. "Are you going to scream?"

Harley met his gaze, her blue eyes sparkling with madness and rage. "Sure," she said softly, before latching her hands around his throat and squeezing as hard as she could with broken fingers. "But you first." It took him by surprise and he tried to throw her off but she wouldn't let go.

They rolled around on the floor for a while like this, Harley choking and grasping onto consciousness, blood leaking down her chin and over her dress while Croc pounded her sides, trying to fling her off his throat. Then she was being pulled off, cold hands around her stomach prying her backwards until she was sitting on the floor with those cold hands wrapped around her tight, fingers digging viciously into her flesh. She was pressed tightly against a solid familiar body wreaking of gun powder.

Three young pieces of muscle moved in on Croc, who was holding his throat and swearing viciously at her on the floor. She felt deaf and unable to work out what was going on while Croc was heaved into a chair and tied down by the thugs.

Her head lolled backwards and she found herself looking up into _his_ face. The Joker stared down at her, so furious and shocked he was incapable of speech and could only suck on his scars while his eyes blazed black and feral.

"Sorry," she rasped, leaning back into him, pressing the glass further into her shoulder but not caring. He had his arms around her, pinioning her limp form to his chest but not saying anything until finally he threw her aside and climbed to his feet, slipping in the blood pooling around them once but then storming forward silently, a soft snarl emitting from twisted red lips.

Harley tried not to cry as she lay on the floor cold and alone, dripping in her own blood. She knew it, she'd let him down. There was nothing she could have done being ripped from that fight and hauled off by Croc, so much bigger and stronger than she was. Then being beaten within an inch of her life—there was nothing she could have done. But surely if her lover was so disappointed she was wrong.

She watched now through blurred vision as the Joker flicked out a small knife from his sleeve and kicked Croc in the chest so the monstrous man fell backwards, still strapped down to the chaire. Then he leapt on him, sawing something off, slicing relentlessly through tissue and snapping bones. The Joker threw something over his shoulder and it landed near Harley's head. She prodded it with a broken hand, curious to know what she was missing and couldn't contain the wheezing giggle from bubbling through her lips when she realized it was Croc's limp and bloody manhood.

The screaming, laughing and sick slap of flesh being removed continued for a while—Harley tried to stay awake and could only just make out the brown loafers approaching her. He squatted down next to her and rolled her onto her back, examining her with pursed lips.

"You alive?"

Harley tried to reply but a rattling breath was all she could manage.

"Can you fix yourself up?"

She managed to nod and he cleared his throat by way of response and moved away from her. One of his thugs lifted Harley up delicately, trying not to damage her further lest he be in trouble with the boss like she was. Harley let herself cry silently now, tears sliding through dried blood, leaving melancholy tracks in their wake.

She'd disappointed him by not being strong enough and the thought practically killed her.

X

Note: Again, just writing stuff. Exploring the relationship. All that Jazz.

Leave me some REVIEWS!!!!! I love them. Absolutely adore them actually.


	4. A Rabbit Hearted Girl

Rabbit Hearts

4. A Rabbit Hearted Girl

The Joker woke up against his will. The sound of a jackhammer pulsed from far off—accompanied by distant shouting and then more drilling—and it continued relentlessly until he finally accepted sleep would no longer be possible that morning. He had a headache—probably from that explosion that had gone off just a little too closely and left his ears ringing the rest of the night.

They'd stayed at an abandoned warehouse over looking the site of some new development. The wrecking ball had _WAYNE_ tattooed across it's front so supposedly some new high rise apartments or a grand skyscraper was being built. Harley had found an old mattress and they used her dress as a pillow and his jacket as a blanket for their makeshift bed. Not excessively comfortable but it had been a relief to sleep after the irritation with the Batman for once again not showing his face.

The drilling continued and the Joker let out a low snarl, rubbing a hand across his paint free eyes to whipe away the last vestiges of sleep.

He rolled onto his side, coming face to face with Harley's naked shoulder. Her body rose and fell with soft snores—blissfully asleep despite the sounds of construction near by. Annoyance at her ability to remain unconscious through the racket gradually dissipated while he watched her sleep. Everything was so soft about Harley when she slept. All gentle curves and slopes from her button nose to her soft blonde hair spilling over the pillow. He remembered her beating a man to death with a hammer the night before and the juxtaposition of the two images brought a genuine smile to his face.

Ah, Harley. Silly.

The Joker touched her shoulder, letting his hand rise and fall with her breathing—then moved down her side to her waist, the gentle dip there where her frame narrowed so necessary to touch.

She made a soft sleepy sound before her eyes fluttered open, blue and dazzling in the morning light. "Honey—" she mumbled distractedly. "Are we leaving?"

The Joker cleared his throat, "Er—no."

She rolled over and tried to burry herself in his chest, her naked form feeling so young and vibrant against his mostly clothed one.

"Good," she mumbled incoherently, apparently falling back asleep.

The Joker held her loosely for a while, just staring at the top of her platinum head, then pulled her closer in a rough, needy gesture that only earned another soft sleepy sound from his lover. He pressed his lips to her cheek, forcing every inch of her closer to his person and she willingly complied, only smiling and making small contented sounds.

His mind fell unfocused, only really embracing the sensations of having her so close and so completely his without much of a coherent thought. Was it wrong to be so attached to someone? Did it not mean he was allowing himself to become part of the plan? Or worse—allowing himself to become ordinary?

She pressed her lips to his jaw and whispered something incomprehensible, nuzzling his throat with her nose in her sleep.

The Joker tightened his grip on Harley and sighed in defeat against her soft blonde curls.

X

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Review! x


	5. Frozen in the Lights

Rabbit Hearts

6. Frozen in the Lights

She was heavier than she looked, the Joker thought, grunting as he adjusted Harley in his arms.

"Keep them away, the bats, they're so close," she whimpered quietly into his shirt.

They were walking down a lone ally way in the Narrows, coming up to the apartment building one of the thugs dressed as clowns lived in. He'd died—overdosing on the Scarecrow's fear toxin so his flat was now home sweet home to the Joker and Harley. It was fair play.

Presently, the Joker carried Harley bridal style through the sweaty summer night—the smell of hot garbage almost unbearable to his senses. Harley had gotten a dose of fear toxin right in the face and had been hallucinating for the past twenty minutes—just whimpering and crying softly to him like a frightened child. Mostly it was about the Batman—but he was sure he'd heard the words 'No, pudding, please don't.' He was her pudding.

The Joker burst across the threshold of their new apartment, shushing Harley when she shrieked at the sudden loud sound and navigated through the flat in search of a bedroom. It was unforgivably hot in the closed up space, not a single window open—which was probably logical considering they were in the Narrows afterall. Summer in Gotham could be sweltering, with every new year it seemed to get worse—more than likely a product of global warming. But heat didn't bother the Joker. Just like cold didn't, or pain or fear for that matter. Trifling human matters that were easily overcome.

He dropped Harley down on the bed and she let out a violent sob, curling into the fetal position away from him.

Grunting with annoyance, the Joker patted her back softly, pursing his lips and looking around the room for anything that might help her get over the hallucinations quickly. Maybe some prescription drugs, or some cold medication, or some other boring drugs to counteract the ones ravaging her system presently. Nothing caught his eye so he continued to helplessly pat Harley's shoulder and grumble to himself until at last she sat up, lips and blue eyes quivering and grasped his hand.

"I can't stop seeing things," she whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry—I just can't stop seeing things."

She looked pathetic, even more so because at least she was conscious enough to know she was making a fool out of herself and being a drain. Although the Joker was sure compassion was out of his realm he felt something twinge in his stomach—maybe repugnance and a bit of sympathy for her. It felt strange and when he found himself dragging her into his lap and resting his head on her shoulder it felt more like murder than anything he'd done all day.

Harley's breathing quieted. "That's nice," she said quietly, her lips moving against his throat.

"Hmm," he agreed flatly.

She nuzzled his neck. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing and get over it," the Joker said gruffly, indulging in thinking about what he would do to the Scarecrow next time he got his hands on him. People generally didn't get away with hurting Harley, nor did they get away with creating huge inconveniences—like Harley was right now.

He felt tears against his throat and she shook delicately in his grasp. With a sigh he moved up to the head of the bed, drawing Harley with him so she was still draped across his lap, her head bowed against his chin. She cried quietly and the Joker ran his free hand through greasy green curls, sighing in exasperation down at her. It wasn't really her fault but that didn't make it any less annoying.

"Shh little Harley don't say a word, Daddy's going to buy you a—uh—a mocking bird."

She turned her face up to him and tried to kiss his lips but he pulled away.

"And if that—uh—mocking bird don't uh—die – Daddy's going give you some scars like mine."

Unable to come up with any more words to his quasi-made up song, the Joker went back to holding Harley tight and patting her back awkwardly but affectionately. "How're you holding up?" he asked callously.

Harley tried to kiss him again and this time he let her, her clammy lips sliding briefly across his closed mouth a handful of time before she collapsed against his chest again as if thoroughly exhausted. Her blonde head lolled against his shoulder, now blissfully unconscious and the Joker made a small victorious gesture with his fist before lying her down on the bed snuggling up to her back.

Finally they could sleep.

X

Note: so if you have any stories you want to see written about the Joker and Harley leave them in a review or a message and I'll write them! I'm running low on inspiration people. It isn't good.

Review! Or leave me an idea! x


	6. Raise It Up

Rabbit Hearts

7. Raise it Up.

Gordon watched helplessly as her body lifted off the table for the second time.

"Charging—Clear!"

A long and ominous beep followed.

"Charging—Clear!"

The dull tone continued, endless and tell-tale. Gordon found that his hands were sweating as he stood in the emergency room at St. Catherine's hospital watching the spectacle. Harley Quinn, also known as Harleen Quinzel had suffered from multiple gun shot and stab wounds—then she'd been hit by a car. Not so much hit as she'd leapt in front in order to push _him_ out of the way.

Gordon's heart wrenched a bit. That was when he'd decided he didn't know Harley Quinn quite as well as he thought he did—watching her scream a warning before she dove straight into the road in order to push the Joker out of the cop car's path.

"Charging—Clear!"

She wore a black mini skirt with stockings and a garter belt visible, all lace and satin and everything the opposite of her former self. On top she wore a thin camisole with an oversized blazer covering her petit form. Now she lay on a hospital cot, her emaciated frame lurching off the table with each shock of the paddles, trying desperately to bring her back to life.

"Charging—Clear!"

Her head lolled sideways, all sweaty blonde hair plastered to her made up face—so hideously smeared and terrifying in the fluorescent hospital light. The sheer clinical environment made her seem filthy and damaged. Not beautiful or glamorous as she occasionally appeared.

Gordon could not get the image of her out of his mind. A hammer in one hand and a gun in the other, Harley had shot at the Batman and hit him twice in the chest though this didn't seem to phase him in the slightest. Her blazer flaring out behind her theatrically as she whirled around at the sound of the police cruiser whizzing down the street heading straight for their little brawl.

Beneath the black make up her blue eyes widened with terror and she screamed. "JACK!" so ferociously that even the Batman seemed to freeze in his tracks. The Joker was in the process of slitting someone's throat quite casually when he turned to Harley, just in time for her to throw her full weight at him, shoving him out of the road and onto the sidewalk just before the police cruiser hit her—sending her flying about three meters up in the air before landing on the wind screen with a sickening crunch.

The Joker, clearly shaken, picked himself up, brushed off and promptly shot the cop driving in the head before reaching for Harley as if making to drag her away from the wreck.

"Don't touch her!" The Batman growled—and then another fight between the two dramatists continued.

"Charging—Clear!"

Gordon rubbed his eyes—despite everything he hadn't wanted Harley Quinn to meet her end like this. By her own hand for the sake of the Joker.

He found it ironic. Two clowns so unbelievably tragic.

X

"Charging—Clear!"

The Joker watched from beneath the surgical mask, his eyes and cheeks clear of paint and his violet trousers and emerald waistcoat covered by a white doctor's coat he'd procured from a less than helpful doctor who was now bleeding to death in a dumpster. Nonetheless it got him in as inconspicuously as possible so he could watch what he imagined were perhaps the last moments of Harley's life slipping away.

She was a murderous psychopath who had killed hundreds yet they still tried to save her life. It was unfathomable to him.

"Charging—Clear!"

Her body lurched again, arching off the cot lifelessly.

She had jumped in front of the car for him. The thought of it made the Joker slightly nauseous. She'd screamed his name—his real name—pure fear and abject horror in her voice. It struck a chord in him and he'd dropped the lifeless body of the cop he held to the ground, turning to face her. But she'd already run at him, pushing him hard in the chest. She'd had enough time to make brief eye contact as if to say 'Good, you're alright' before the car hit her and she flew impossibly high up into the air like a limp rag doll. Then _smack_ back down on the car.

Rage. Something like fear maybe, but not quite. More like uncontrollable blind rage and impulse drove him to murder the cop driving the car and then engage in possibly one of the most vicious battles he'd had to date with the Batman. He couldn't see straight—all he could see was Harley in his peripheral vision bleeding to death on top of the car.

"Charging—Clear."

What did he do about her?

The beep went on for a long time until, with horrible frustration, the young doctor charged the paddles again and shot one last current of electricity to Harley's heart.

Beep—Beep—Beep –

The Joker's head shot up, unwashed curls flopping over his naked face.

"We've got a pulse!" a doctor shrieked nervously.

The Joker's lips twisted in something similar to a wary smile before he turned and stormed out of the emergency room.

X

Note: I was watching House last night and just fancied murdering Harley for a little bit.


	7. This Is a Gift

Rabbit Hearts

7. This is a Gift.

"This—Is—What—You—Get—When—You—Touch—ah! Things that don't belong to you!" Each word was punctuated with the solid smack of steel as Harley slammed the hammer over and over again into the thug's head.

The Joker stood back, arms crossed, red lips pressed into an amused smirk as he watched her straddling the now very dead young man who was only recognizable by twisted cornrows now matted with blood and brain matter. She'd more or less torn off his face with each blow from the hammer—the effects of her rage leaving only a twitching mass behind.

He watched Harley sit back and look around the room as if coming out of a trance. They were in the kitchen at the Iceberg Lounge having a meeting with members of the mob, who now sat frozen in their seats around a steel table, staring with open fear etched across their hardened faces. Pretty little Harley known mostly as the Joker's side kick and girlfriend with a touch of madness to her cadence.

The Joker thought she couldn't have looked more beautiful straddling a quivering dead man without a face, her curling blonde hair flecked with bits of bone and brain matter, the diamond chandelier earrings he'd picked out for her glowing against her painted face. She wore a red dress with a skirt that gently frilled around her thighs like an ice skating costume. A tophat sat jauntily atop her blonde curls, giving her the look of some kind of deranged yet doll like circus performer. Her lips formed a perfectly apprehensive 'O' and the Joker knew she was starting to regret loosing the plot so he cleared his throat, getting her attention.

"Harley, you silly bunny," he said affectionately as she stood up and glided towards him, taking her place at his side, her willowy body draped across his shoulder.

"Sorry, darling," she sighed dramatically, adjusting her top hat. "You know how much I hate being touched by filth." With this statement she looked around the room meaningfully as if to say how filthy she thought each member at the table was, her diamonds glittering in the florescent light.

The man now lacking a face on the floor had made the mistake of grabbing Harley's arse on his way into the room. He'd said, "Nice outfit toots," before giving her a healthy slap. Without thinking the Joker had let a knife slip from his sleeve but before he could act Harley had launched herself at the thug.

The Joker found himself snickering in a self satisfied way as Harley laid her head innocently on his shoulder, the picture of blonde cheerfulness despite the hammer swinging at her side.

"Joker, you need to keep that bitch on a leash," a very unwise member of the mob said.

Harley and the Joker both cracked up in hysterical laughter at this, hanging on one another as if desperate for something to hold on to.

Another wiser member of the group shouted, "Shut up Bernie, unless you want her wearing your balls as earrings."

"Ah, thanks Hal," Harley giggled.

"She's already got earrings," the Joker said, his tone deadly serious with a giant smirk pulling at his scars. "But I think you could—ah— do with a necklace Harl, what do you think?"

"Yes, please," she practically glowed.

With that they both skipped around to the side of the table Bernie occupied, their hands swinging happily together.

"Now—wait a second—" Bernie got out of his chair and started backing up, his hands held up in surrender. The Joker pulled out a knife and Harley wielded her hammer dramatically.

"Ready baby?" she giggled, kissing her lover's painted cheek

"Joker—" Hal said in a warning tone, though he nor anyone else made a move to save Bernie.

Harley swung the hammer hard and Bernie ducked with a shriek, expecting her to aim for his head—it clipped his shoulder though, a loud crunch echoing around the room as he fell to the floor howling in pain. The two clowns dropped down next to the thug, giggling and talking in hushed voices to one another below the din of Bernie's screams.

"What the hell, Hal? Shouldn't we do something?" Hal's security asked in a low voice as some members of the mob averted their gaze from the mess.

Hal cleared his throat. "This is like foreplay for these lunatics."

X

Note: aww. Bless them. Please Review!!!


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